“Just say what, Captain,” Sharpe clapped him on the shoulder. The grin was back in his voice. “Give the orders.”
Gravel looked at him with surprise, then grinned back. Violet looked away, shaking her head, fighting off a grin herself.
Time for that later. Once we’re away in the black.
She had to reach out and steady herself, holding onto the launch at that thought. Squeezed her eyes shut till her balance returned. The black was just below them. Huge and empty, the same thing she’d fallen through, almost died in.
Time for that later.
“Here’s how,” Gravel was saying. “This drops the keel, keeps her steady and plugged full of ether. Enough air for a week, but maybe three days with all of us. Those valves control the pitch and the thrust, like a sphere tender. Doesn’t use up our air, runs off those tanks there.”
Gravel rapped his knuckles on the metal cylinders set into the floor. The sound echoed around the lower hold. Loudly. It reminded Violet of Sharpe’s own tapping.
“We need to go,” she called out in a loud whisper.
“Right you are, Miss Violet,” Gravel agreed. “You ready there, Mister Sharpe?”
“No,” Sharpe shook his head. “But we’ll manage. Let’s away.”
“Aye, let’s away,” Gravel grinned. He hesitated a moment still. It wasn’t hard for Violet to guess what he was thinking.
“He wouldn’t have come,” she reminded him.
“Aye, maybe. Worry about him, what might happen after, is all.”
“He’ll be fine. Worry about us.”
“Aye, you remember the lever?”
“Big brass knobbly one, far side by the wall.”
“Aye, big brass and knobbly, lass. I’ll see to our ropes. Just leaves one thing.” He pointed at Onyx, standing silent watch over them all.
For a moment something pulled at Violet. She half toyed in her head with the idea of bringing Onyx along. An indestructible bodyguard. She’d just gotten Sharpe back, part of her old life. Could she risk that? No, the golem was too heavy. Gravel had said so.
But then . . . what does he know?
He could be wrong.
If he weren’t the only one who could work the launch . . .
“Stay there,” Violet said, still not sure if it was her words or thoughts or actions that were driving the golem. “Once we start, don’t let anyone else on the ship, understand? No one else gets on.”
No golems on the ship.
Violet smiled. Onyx turned its head, a twist from a featureless waist, to face her. She felt judgement there.
There was no way to tell if the golem understood, and Violet ran to the far side of the hold, straight for the brass lever. It was ratcheted, linking up to gears and cogs in a way she didn’t understand but unlike the pulleys and winches used to manage normal cargo holds, it could be operated by a single person. She took hold of it and waited, watching Gravel removing the mooring ropes. That only left the ones suspending the tender. Gravel waved at her to pull the lever before he released them.
The lever stuck at first, refusing to budge. Violet threw her weight against it but then the hells broke loose.
Armed sailors burst into the deck, pouring out from walkways and stairwells. The dark interior lit up with wandfire; no questions were asked or warnings given. Perhaps it was the sight of Onyx, a black silhouette in the shadows. Shots fired and ricocheted off its skin, and Violet winced at the memory of that happening before.
Different ship, different time.
Sharpe and Bandit ducked down inside the tender. Gravel dropped to the deck, lying low. He waved frantically, swinging his arm in low sweeping motions, at Violet. She tried again, wrenching at the lever. This time it gave, throwing her off balance and onto the floor. The floor lurched, the axis actually shuddering as the hold doors opened, splitting apart and opening up to the mist.
Violet scrambled to her feet, and a stray shot almost took her head off. It couldn’t have been aimed. She hadn’t been there a moment ago and it was almost impossible to see her. It caught her in the shoulder though, spinning her round and dumping her back onto the cold, metal deck.
The light was changing. Could make out faces now, voices too. Orders being shouted. She saw Mors at the head of a pack, brandishing a wand in one hand, the other giving directions with sharp, savage motions.
Violet started to crawl on her elbows and forearms, making her way towards cover. From there she could dash to the tender. Sharpe must have found a weapon because he was shooting back. She couldn’t see Gravel. Hopefully he was aboard too.
Just me then, better hurry, be a long cold jump.
Someone grabbed her from behind, an arm wrapping around her waist and another over her mouth. The breath whooshed out of her lungs as she was dragged backwards, away from Sharpe and Bandit. Back in the dark.
Violet bit down on the hand covering her mouth. She felt blood spurt out between her teeth, hot and metallic, and felt the shudder of pain from whoever held her. But they didn’t let go, they gripped tighter and took another step back. Violet fought but it was useless. It was wrong. It was all going wrong.
Violet grabbed at the arms holding her. Too strong. Her feet were lifted off the ground, flailing, kicking at the air. She threw her head back, collecting something of her attacker’s face, rewarded with something that might have been pain. Still nothing.
Her eyes found Sharpe, across the deck. Through the dark and the confused fire-fight raging around them. He saw her. He was reaching out one hand, the other gripped the side of the tender. Realisation, horror. Then a decision. He was going to come for her. She saw it in his eyes.
Quill looked at me like that . . .
The lines holding the tender shuddered, then began to uncoil at a rate of knots, ropes zipping through the pulleys. The boat, Sharpe inside, dropped through the thin outer envelope. Violet blinked and it was gone. They were gone.
He was gone.
Gravel had pulled the releases. She saw him then, one hand on the switches, the other hoisted above him. Onyx dangled him, holding him tight and feet above the ground. Gravel’s face was defiant but screwed up in pain.
Let him go. Let him go!
The words screamed inside Violet’s head but never emerged. She fought to plant her feet on the deck, intending to run to Gravel’s side, to force Onyx to let him go. She saw the light arcing around both of them as Gravel pried at the black fingers holding him. It flared out in a crazed spider web around Gravel, and he began to convulse. He cried out once then went limp, ribbons of smoke drifting off his body.
Violet did scream now. Into the hand covering her mouth. Even that was denied her. Muffled. Unheard.
“Be quiet!” Kaspar’s voice. Right in her ear. He was the one who had her, pulling her back. “Or they’ll hear you!”
Back. Away. Out of sight.
Sharpe was gone. Gravel wasn’t moving. He was passed out. Violet felt herself do the same. Slipping into the black.
She no longer cared if anyone found her there.
Chapter 22
“SHIP FEEL QUIET to you?”
“Feel?” Nel turned her head to look down at Sharpe. She stood atop the rails near the bowsprit, one foot extended out over the edge of the ship. It was a pose she’d often found Violet in, face first into the black, holding onto the lines and leaning out over the stars.
Sharpe looked much the same as he had back then. He’d found a razor or scissors or maybe borrowed a knife from Jack’s galley. Shorn himself clean. Maybe not clean—there was blood on his collar, nicks and cuts on his face. But the long hair and beard were gone.
“Quieter. Empty.”
“Ship is empty, Sharpe,” Nel told him. “And the crew don’t talk much.”
It was eerie, the way the Draugr went about their duties with hardly a word. They could and would talk just fine if asked, but the banter and catcalls that would normally fill the top deck and rigging were nowhere to be heard. Every few hours something mig
ht set them off and they’d jabber like a crowd of gossiping fisher-folk. All of them talking at once, over one another. The air would buzz with words for a few minutes and then the silence would drag again. It was those long silences Sharpe seemed to struggle with. And not just him—Quill and Jack had been conspicuously quiet. They’d had one spectacular verbal sparring match, blowing out at each other. Then both had come to the same conclusion; that they were yelling at each other from across an empty deck. With no one paying any attention. The two had slunk back to their respective corners to sulk about it.
Nel wasn’t even sure what they had been fighting about.
“Yeah,” Sharpe said. “That is the problem.”
Nel turned back to the stars. She didn’t let Sharpe see the smile tugging on her mouth as he fidgeted next to her. He paced. Drummed his fingers. Took hold of a line, tugging on it to test the slack. It wasn’t meant to be slack.
Someone can’t handle the quiet.
She took pity on him. “Something on your mind?”
“You never asked me,” he said.
“Asked you what?”
“About me. Me and Raines.”
Nel kept looking out to the black. “Talking to you about you is like trying to drink rain water. Doesn’t do much for your thirst.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Means I gave up asking because you never answered.”
“Ask me now.”
Nel faced him. “Meaning you’ll answer straight?”
Sharpe nodded. “Told Violet. Through a cell door aboard the Morgana. Might be nice to tell someone, face to face.”
Nel grimaced. “I ain’t Violet. Besides, I don’t care no more.”
Sharpe blinked, eyes widening in surprise. “What?”
“Said I don’t care.”
Sharpe grabbed her by the arm. “Nel, I want you to know. I want to tell you.”
“And I said I don’t care.”
“But . . .”
“Let me tell you this once,” Nel said, lowering her voice. She could feel eyes on them. “I don’t care what you did, or what you were. All I care about is who you are now and you don’t get to tell me that. You show me. And so long as you’re on this ship and my crew that’s all we’re going to say about it.”
She turned to leave, scowling when she caught the eyes of her navigator watching her from across the deck. Right after all.
Sharpe still had her arm, pulled her back around to face him. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. Even though it was right up close. Uncomfortable close. And getting closer.
“Chanel, I need to tell you—”
Nel put up a hand between them. “Sharpe, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I will warn you that if you so much as try and kiss me right now I will knock your teeth so far back you’ll be chewing biscuits through your nose.”
She could read the expression now as she pulled away. Shock, disbelief, a little bit of fear. All good things. Better than what she saw on Quill’s face when she made her way to the bridge.
“I will never understand the mating habits of your kind,” he shook his head.
“No mating on the ship, Quill,” she told him. “Very important rule.”
“A new rule?”
“Old rule. Just reinstating it.”
“Ah, yes. Were you not the reason that rule came about?”
“Shut your face, Loveland.”
“Of course. I have no interest in discovering whether chewing through one’s nose is indeed possible.”
Damned Kelpie.
IT WAS ARISTEIA who escorted her to the captain’s chambers this time. It felt wrong to call it a cabin. It was a double room in the centre of the ship, not the traditional grand cabin along the stern. Violet recalled it was because it provided equal access to all parts of the ship and the network of speaking tubes converged in the area, giving Raines access to whoever or wherever he needed. It was not a break with tradition she approved of.
Aristeia was not a tall woman, Violet realised. When she looked at her she was looking the first mate in the eye. It only made the walk uncomfortable. No one had yet accused her of being involved in Sharpe’s escape but surely it was only a matter of time. The long walk to her trial and likely execution. Aristeia her solitary escort; she hadn’t seen Kaspar since he’d assured Mors and Aristeia that Violet had been with him during the whole event. He was probably a suspect too with how close he and Gravel were. Might hold him responsible as an officer in any case.
They were all waiting for her. Mors and Heathen opposite one another. Raines pacing the length of the room, his arms folded across his chest and clutching his elbows. He stopped when Violet was ushered in, becoming keen and attentive.
“Ah, here she is.”
Aristeia wasted no time. From behind Violet she spoke. “The escape of the prisoner. What was your involvement?”
Violet did her best not to react. She clasped her hands behind her back, standing at near attention the way an enlisted sailor might. Her response drew a frown from Raines.
“The girl is acquainted with both the prisoner and his accomplice?” Heathen asked. She gave nothing else away.
“Also the ensign,” Mors said quietly, tapping the hilt of one of his hands. He paced out from behind the desk, moving to flank Violet. “He is being questioned now.”
Violet turned her head towards him, lifting her eyebrows. “And?”
“And what?” Mors scowled.
“What did these questions tell you?”
“He claimed he was with you,” Mors answered at a look from Raines.
“Convenient,” Aristeia growled.
“Do you believe him?” Violet asked.
No one answered her.
Violet shrugged. “If you believe him there’s nothing to discuss. If you don’t then let’s get on with it.”
“You were both aboard the Tantamount,” Heathen said. Her voice was cool, steady. Indifferent. “I remember seeing you there. There is no link between the prisoner and the man who helped him escape. Other than you.”
Violet shrugged.
“The prisoner is unimportant,” Raines dismissed Sharpe. “A path once taken that leads nowhere. I would pay him no further mind. However—”
“I disagree,” Aristeia interrupted. “If only for the implicit treachery from one of our own in his escape.”
“I agree,” Mors said. “I dislike loose ends.”
“Fine, fine,” Raines sighed. “Then by all means, do tidy them up. I would ask that we resolve the matter with our young friend here though, so that she and I may continue our work.”
“This work is making progress?” Heathen asked. Her attention had shifted, Violet realised. She wasn’t the focus.
“Very much so,” Raines smiled, nodding at Violet.
“I see.”
“Another matter then,” Aristeia said. “Mors.”
Mors raised his hand, clutching a rolled-up parchment. At first glance a map.
“We would have you explain this.” He placed it on the desk and motioned for Violet to approach. She unrolled the parchment, spreading and flattening it, glancing at Raines before bending to see what it was. The officers waited expectantly.
“This . . . this is . . . ,” Violet stared, her skin growing cold. She couldn’t move, her arms were locked in place, touching it. The paralysis lasted a few seconds then she recoiled, stepping back and putting distance between. The parchment rolled up.
“Yes?” Aristeia’s voice. “This is?”
Violet grabbed her own hand, clutching it to her chest. Shaking. Eyes hot. Vision blurry. She shook her head angrily.
You are not going to cry. What sort of weak, mewling girl child cries at a time like this?
“The deed,” her voice came out choked, sobbing. She hated herself for it. “To the Tantamount. That . . . that were the captain!”
Violet stared at the deed in utter horror. It was the captain, tattooed on his back, his skin. That was Ca
ptain Horatio Phelps’ skin she’d been touching.
“Where’d you get that? Where . . . ?”
“Enough,” Raines snapped. Violet flinched at his words but they weren’t directed at her. “This is most . . . upsetting. It avails us nothing, the very opposite.”
“Not the reaction you were expecting,” Heathen commented, though it was not obvious who she was directing her words at.
“This is the first time you have seen this?” Mors asked, leaning over the desk. His hand pushed down on the map, fingers splayed and locking it in place.
“Clearly,” Raines told him.
“That question wasn’t for you,” Aristeia said. “Captain.”
The room fell silent as the two locked gazes. “This was found after the escape,” Aristeia said. “Not on our turncoat but picked up from the hold. It was most likely lost during the fracas. Again, our young friend here is the only link between a ship gone to the black and what has occurred. So I will ask again—”
“You never use my name,” Violet spoke up. All eyes turned to her. She looked around at all of them in turn.
“None of you do,” she said. “None of you ever use my name. Not once.”
Stony faced glares all around. Raines covered the loss of control quickly. Heathen . . .
That was a smile.
“Do not presume to talk to any of us here with such insolence, girl,” Aristeia warned her, grabbing her by the shoulder. Violet shook off the hand, turning on her heel to face the woman.
“Say it,” she said to the ship’s second in command. Then emphasising each word, “Say my name.”
Aristeia’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. She moved close enough for Violet to see the scars on her face turn white over clenched jaw muscles. Still the woman didn’t speak or address her. Not by name.
“Who am I?”
“You are not—” Aristeia started.
“I gave it to him.”
All eyes turned to Heathen. She blinked once, a horizontal wisp across her eyes.
“What?” Mors was the first to speak. “You?”
Heathen blinked again. “I gave it to him. To Sharpe, the prisoner. In his cell. Before.”
“Why?” the captain asked.
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